


The Zombieland Chronicles

by Zee_Seal



Category: Fantrolls - Fandom, Fantrolls Fandom, Homestuck
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Name Changes obviously: Pyulla is Priscilla and Diomed is Dietrach, Zombie AU, humanstuck AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 06:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18544249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zee_Seal/pseuds/Zee_Seal
Summary: A Zombie Apoc. slice of life drabble series. Enough said.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a Humanstuck zombie Au for my local idiots. I like Aus, if you haven't figured that out by now.

The soft crackle of a fire, and the occasional soft exhale is the only sound that seemed to disturb the silence that saturated the empty building. 

The windows were boarded up and the door had been barricaded from the inside. Besides the light from small fire situated in the middle of the stone floor, faint moon beams slipped through the cracks of the boarded windows. It was so quiet, both in and out of the room that the two who where holed up for the night, could hear everything outside.

That is until one young Ms. Priscilla sat up from lying down, and groaned softly. Reaching up, she ran a hand through her shaggy orange hair, turning those mischievous multi-coloured eyes of hers to her companion who was relaxed, but very visibly not asleep. She couldn't take this. Running for days from infected and militia between fallen quarantine zones. It was driving her crazy. That and the nights spent in silence, it made the voice in her head far to loud for her liking. Far to intrusive.

"Dee. Dee you awake?"

"Hm." came the half-asleep reply. He didn't WANT to be awake...but...if she needed something then...

"Talk to me."

"...'Bout what?" He asks, slowly opening his eye to focus on her. Slowly, he sits up, bringing his knees up to lean on, still looking as tired and lazy as ever. Every one of his movements seemed languid, as if he wasn't putting much thought into how he was moving. Running on auto-pilot, no doubt, but the fact he was humouring her was appreciated.

"Anything, everything, fuckin', I'unno, I can't stand tha silence. Tha voice in mah head is gettin' to fuckin' loud-"

"Got any family left?" He asks, interrupting her. He knew far to well about head voices. To much personal experience there if you asked him. For a moment Priscilla is taken off guard by being interrupted but she quickly sighs. Again, she ruffles her hair, slumping down against the wall behind her.

"I've got a feelin' my twin brother is still alive out there, dunno about any of my older siblings...my younger sister and parents are...they...yeah..." it's there she trails off, and reaches up to touch the rose and dagger tattoo on her arm. Family insignia? Maybe. He notes her nervous tick but not before she fires back.

"What about you?"

"Dunno who my dad was, Mum was a bitch, dunno if she lived or not, dunno if I've got siblings. Don't really fuckin' care much either."

"Shit family?"

"Shit family."

"Gotcha."

Pausing he reaches up and rubs at his jaw, frowning a bit at the stubble that was forming. Man he hated when facial hair started to grow in...so annoying...and shaving with a knife was such a hassle. But it gave him an idea. Moving over, he plops down next to her, leaning back against the wall, arms behind his head. However he does pause to lean up, and check out of the boarded windows, frowning as he sees some ambling shadows in the distance. 

"Face scars?" He asks, in a hushed tone, signalling for her to talk quietly as well. She picks up the hint as she mumbles her reply, just barely loud enough for him to hear.

"The one on mah nose is from a fist fight when ah was in juvie..."

"A juvie brat huh?"

"Listen my fiance and ah were shits as teens..."

"You were engaged?"

"Yep. The jaw scar is from the fiance."

"....and you were gonna still marry him because-"

"Oh it was an accident, he decked me in the middle of a bar fight. Don't go thinkin' he was beatin' me for sport."

"Well shit, you didn't elaborate sooner...can't blame me for thinkin' he was a jackass."

"Not any more of a jackass than you are."

"Hey now I'm a total gentleman-"

"Aight then, answer some questions for me?"

"Shoot."

Pausing, Priscilla moves closer, and leans back onto the wall next to him, hardly giving a shit about personal space, as she puts her head on his shoulder, curling into his side. Not thinking much of it, he puts his arm around her. Now it was a simple act of comfort. Human touch and companionship. It didn't mean anything more than that, but he was so damn grateful for meeting this crazy ass carrot-top.

"Where yah from?"

"Dunno really, moved around a lot till I just decided to say fuck it and go my own way. Spent most of my life in New York and the east coast, though."

"Where'd you get those body scars?"

"Crazy ex-girlfriend. She stabbed me with a broken glass bottle. That was our last fight before she put a restraining order on me."

"Yikes."

"Ah it was just a flesh wound."  
"Oh-Kay then..." She said, not really knowing how to take that. "Next question....Why do yah still dye yer hair?"

"Jus' cuz tha world is dead don't mean punk is dead-"

"No, seriously, what's yer natural hair colour?"

"...."

"C'mon what's your natural hair colour, I won't laugh, promise."

"I'm German-American. Take a wild fuckin' guess."

"Oh my god, yer a blonde." 

"Bingo." Dietrich grumps quietly.

"....Hey, I like blondes so it's all good to me."

With that he gives her a raised brow, and a side eye, look. He has to roll his eyes, as he pinches her side, having slide his hand to rest just above her hip. She elbows him as a silent retaliation, before settling back down. Good to know he was still in her good graces.

"Yer lucky you're cute, Dee, or else ah'd probably deck you for pinchin' me."

"Oh, so I'm cute now? Yesterday you were shouting at me to get my ugly mug away from an armless infected-"

"Listen here yah fuck-"

"I'm listenin' but all I hear is the sound of a bitch-"

With that, Priscilla wiggles herself free of his arms, and ends up right in his face, having planted herself in his lap. He's amused because she's squishing his face, making him make fish lips. It takes everything in his power to keep from laughing at the small woman, who looked so indignant despite literally being the one to speak her mind with out a sense of candor.

"If ah call yah an idiot it means ah like yah, and if ah call yah ugly, it means ah think yer cute. A crash course in Priscilla speak, aight?" 

With that she lets go of his face, and pats his cheek. It was one of those weird things he...actually liked. Maybe he didn't get hugged enough as a kid, or he was affection starved or whatever it's called, but he did cherish all the little touches and weird affection he got from her. It actually made him feel something. And it shows as he leans into her hand, before she pulls it away.

"...Aight, got it, Priss speak means the exact opposite."

"Not all the time, mind you, jus' when it comes to compliments."

"So does that mean if you say you hate me, you're actually sayin' love me?"

"Yep. Bingo, got it."

"You're are the weirdest fuckin' woman I've ever met."

"An yah wouldn't fuckin' trade me in fer any one, admit it, ahm tha most interestin' thing tha's ever happened to you, Dietrich."

"Hey yah got my name right."

"Been practicin' sayin' it."

".....Oh?~" He asks, with a sly raise of his eyebrow.

"SHUDDUP DON'T'CHA DARE TAKE THAT THA WRONG WAY-"

"TO LATE-" All he can do is laugh as she stands and then proceeds to shove him onto his side, and kicking him a bit. It causes him to wheeze laugh, while she goes and takes the sleeping bag he had been using. Not that he minded, she'd end up right next to him during the night any way. Another weird quirk of hers he had noted. He wondered if she noticed the weird things he did in return some days.

"Yeah like ah'd be caught dead moanin' tha' phlegmt-y ass name. S'nah sexy enough to moan. Dee is moanable, Dietrich is not."

"Says you, yah know how unsexy Priscilla is? I can't fuckin' say that while fuckin' a chick."

"Yah could call me Rose? Seein' as it's in mah last name."

"....That just makes me think of the Titanic movie."

"Paint me like one of yer German girls.~" Priscilla says, as she lays back, a hand on her forehead, obviously being mockingly dramatic. That gets a snort out of Dio as he settles down on the opposite sleeping bag, arms crossed under his head once again.

"....Yo, Priss, get some sleep, we've got alotta ground to cover tomorrow..."

"Yeah, yeah, ahm asleep...."

"If yah need me ahm here."

"Same for you."


	2. Arm(less) and Dangerous.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More on the dumb Zombie Au for these idiots.

Wandering into a city was a death sentence these days. No one was stupid enough to do it, and this was the reason why.

Thundering footsteps and panted curses, followed by the stray sound of a bullet being fired is the noise that follows the pair of them as they try to tactically retreat from the hoard of infected that had swarmed them just moments prior. 

Climbing up a collapsed road block, Dietrich only pauses to offer down a hand to his companion, watching with rising fear as one of those fungal fucks gains on her. 

"To your left!" he calls, as he leans down further, stretching his hand out to her to grab.

"Yeh ah fucken' SEE 'im!" is her angered reply, as she aims and shoots the infected's head off, nearly point blank range. Looking back she jumps up, grabbing onto his hand, and scrambling up with his help. With a grunt, the pair of them fall onto the other side of the quarantine zone blockade. Slowly the duo stands, and Dietrich can't help but mumble a couple of curses as he wipes blood off himself. 

"Yah aight, Dee?"

"Yeah I'm fuckin' grand...just fuckin' covered in blood, guts an' gore is all...the usual...Still pissed about losin' my fuckin' hair dye."

He's to busy checking himself over to really look at her. Fixing his leather jacket and checking to see if his jeans needed any knew patches, or if he dropped anything essential. For the hired goon type, he sure did take alot of precaution to make sure he'd live to see the next day. Wasn't the kind of guy to die in a blaze of glory now, was he?

"Ah shut up you're lucky you didn't fucken' die."  
"Listen I'd rather die then walk around with blonde hair-"

"Jus' shave your head. Shaved heads are still punk."

"....."

"Better than havin' a full head of blonde hair yeh?"

"I'll think about it, but you'd probably have to do it for me."

"Only if you're willing to cut my hair in return."

"Sure, we'll make a night of it, fuckin' beauty treatments all up in this place."

His sarcasm makes her have to laugh, that airy wheezy noise that sounded like she couldn't breath, as she shoves him. They were in the clear for now...so might as well lighten up the mood. The pair of them tended to get verbally aggressive if they spent to much time stuck in a somber mood.

"Aight, aight, c'mon, let's get goin', there's a safe house up ahead if mah maps right--" Her sudden stop, mid sentence makes Dietrach pause himself, looking over at her. His blue eyes scream confusion as he stares at her mortified look. Following her gaze, his own eyes land on his exposed wrist....

It was bleeding.

From a bite mark.

"Ah shit...." Is all he can mumble, as he brings his hand up to his purple and blonde hair, running through it. He hadn't styled it in a long while, and it was growing shaggy again...but that was the least of his problems now.

"Priss, to the safe house, we get a machete and booze- not in that order, though."

"What?- What you mean you jus' want me to fuckin' hack your arm off?"

"Sure, why not? I heard if you cut if off soon enough yah can stop the infection, so lets go-"

"Shit c'mere first lemme stop circulation from your wrist-" With that, she rips some clothe from the hem of her vest, moving over to tie it around his wrist tightly, just right above the bite. Shit, this was bad.

"We're good, let's go." 

She urges, grabbing his hand for a moment as she pulls him in the direction of the safe house. They could hunker down there for a few days, and be undisturbed for that time, at least, especially if Dee needed time to recover from an amputation. Or worse than that- but Priscilla didn't want to think about that. Not right now. Not if there was a slim chance of her saving her friend.

Getting up and into the safety bunker was a hassle, having to climb and jump up to get into the reinforced and barricaded room, but it was safe, and away from the reach of anything that clicked or stalked their kind.

They're setting up what they need in a flash, Dee ditching his shirt and jacket as he took a seat near a crate, his infected arm stretched out over it. Sighing, Priscilla hands him the bottle of whisky they had been saving in case of emergencies like this. She watches him take a hardy swig as she heats up the machete's edge up with a lighter.

She then watches him pour some of that same whisky over his the joint of his elbow, using a cleaner rag to, well, clean it. He pauses in cleaning the section of semi-tanned skin, to look at her, before going back to the task at hand, explaining what he was doing.

"At the elbow, it'll be the easiest. You can get the blade right between the elbow ligaments. It's all cartilage there and soft squishy stuff. Cleanin' it so it doesn't get infected right off the bat- and make sure you fuckin' cauterize it"

"...And you know that hooooww...?"

"Listen, I'm a fuckin' dirty sinner and I'm going to hell, leave it at that, cuz you sure as fuck don't wanna know what I used to do for a living."

The dark look he gives her stifles any questions she may have. For once, looking into his dark blue eyes made a shiver of fear run up her spine. She almost challenges the look, but she decides its not the best time for this conversation. Instead, she just moves closer to him, the edge of the machete glowing softly from the heat.

"Right. Aight, let's get this over with..."

Taking another swig of the hard stuff, Dee grabs a stray piece of wood, and puts it between his teeth. He knew this was going to hurt like hell, and screaming was not an option. It'd draw to much attention to their location, and he sure as fuck wouldn't be able to move right after this shit was done.

Closing his eyes, he braces himself for the first hack- and when it comes, he nearly bites through the wood in his mouth, a pained noise rising in his throat as he feels his limb get severed. It takes every ounce of his restraint to not cry, either, keeping his eyes tightly closed and face contorted into a look of pain.

Thankfully, Priscilla isn't squeamish, as it only takes her a few good hacks in the same place to get the arm off, ignoring the blood that had gotten all over her from initial blow-back. She was working quickly, and as efficiently as she could in this situation. She had killed, skinned and gutted animals before, but this...this was a human...so her stomach was twisting slightly at what she was doing. 

All in the name of survival, right?

However the worst of it is yet to come. 

Grabbing her lighter again, she heats the edge of the blade once more to an almost deadly shade of red, before pressing it into the stump, to cauterize the wound as instructed. It's only then Dee slumps back, his body not able to really withstand the shock of it all. 

It gives Priscilla time to move away and vomit up what little stomach contents she had...

Rinsing her mouth out, she ignores the burning of bile in the back of her throat as she quickly hefts the skinny, now one armed man, up and moves him to lay on an old mattress that was left in the place.

Cleaning the wound up with what little water and anti-septic they had in their measly med-kit, she bandages his stump up to keep it from being infected. Laying his leather jacket over him, she grabs his baseball bat, and her machete, before heading down from their hiding spot.

If they were gonna be here while he healed up, they were gonna need food, water, and medicine...And she was gonna get it. With two people it was hard to be sneaky, but by her little old lonesome? She'd be a goddamned shadow...

It was a bad dream. That's all it was, a bad dream. That's what Dietrich thinks to himself as he slowly rouses, feeling weak, and sluggish. It was to damn hot, and he was sweating his balls off and his vision was blurry...shit was he sick? A fever? Goddammit...Did he go on a fucking binger?

Was something slipped into his drink? Had to be with how his heavy his head felt, and how bad it was pounding...

Trying to push up on both of his elbows, he has to pause, stifling a soft cry of pain, before falling back...shit...guess it wasn't a bad dream after all...He really was in hell and lost an arm...Using his good arm, he reaches and touches the stump of where his left arm use to be. It was bandaged, and those wrappings were slightly damp with both blood and sweat...

"The fuck yah trynna do, Dee, get some fuckin' rest-" comes a familiar voice, but it was missing it's natural gruffness...She sounded relieved, but still concerned.

"Help me sit up, I'm not....fft..." he has to pause as he pushes up with one arm, suddenly feeling light headed. "...I'm not a fuckin' cripple..."

"That's derogatory, first of all, second of all..." she moves over, and gently pushes him back down onto the mattress, pulling the blanket down to his waist, and tucking it in, before shoving another couple of old pillows she had found under his head so he was at least slightly more elevated. With that, she steps back, moving to stand near the fire.

Finally. His vision was being less of a bitch too and clearing up. He holds up his stump, frowning at it, before using his only good hand to reach up and brush the nest that was his hair out of his eyes...but he has to pause. Slowly, he reaches down to slowly lift up the covers on his lower half.

"....The fuck are my clothes?" 

"Yer still in yer skivvies don't fuckin' have a fit. Yer clothes are hung up an' dryin' cuz ah washed 'em, cept for yer jacket of course."

"Yeah but- why? Not complaining but, why?"

"Yeh had a fever. It's easier tah do a cold clothe treatment on some one who's in less clothes."

"Cold cloth-?"

"Yanno, cold water filled washclothes that go on yer forehead, behind yer knees an' elbows? It helps bring tha fever down. Yeh were runnin' a fierce one."  
"Oh."

"Mum taught me that. Natural remedies and bullshit too if we ever need 'em."

"Cool but....How long was I out?"

"Bout a day an a half."

"Shit..." Dietrich grumbles as he rubs his eye with the butt of his palm. Man his head still felt fuzzy and heavy and his stomach was eating itself...to the point the growl it made makes his face flush a bit. Noisy annoying thing. He hated this. He felt like he was being babied...but its not like he was in any condition to fight back against what she was doing to him...ugh...He felt like a burden at this moment, and he despised it.

"C'mon lets get yah fed." Comes Priscilla's voice once again, making his thoughts vanish as soon as they came. She had found some cans of soup so that's what she had been warming on the fire. 

Gently, she grabs one, and moves over to sit on the edge of the bed next to him.

"Ahm nah gonna feed yah." 

She says, as she hands him the warmed up can of soup. Thank the gods if she was gonna feed him he'd probably die there on the spot. Yes, his masculinity was at stake here. The last time any one babied him was never and he sure as fuck wasn't gonna let the cute carrot topped girl he had been riding with go full blown Mom Mode on him.

"Thank god." He mumbles as he sips the lukewarm soup right out of the can, not caring for manners. Not like either of them needed manners right now, it was the end of the goddamned world. It becomes comfortable silence between them as they eat. Priscilla glad he didn't turn, and Dietrich glad he wasn't fucking dead.

"When yer done, if yeh feel up to it, ah'll trim yer hair. It's all knotted an' shit from sleepin' so much."

That comment causes him to pause, shaking his head so that his hair would fall into his face....blonde and purple still....but it was more blonde than purple at this point. It causes him to frown but he just takes a huge swallow of his soup, and puts the can to the side. With a lot of effort he pushes himself to properly sit up, grunting.

"I'm done eatin', jus' fucking cut all of this shit off an'- ugh, where can I wash this fuckin' sick stink off?" He was done, so done, with the sick shit. He'd power through the rest of it, he's survived worse growing up, he'd survive now. But he just wanted to be clean.

Standing, she offers out her hand, and with ease, she gets him up onto his feet, keeping him from tumbling over- goddamn there was a height difference between them. She stood only 5'6, he had a full foot or so on her. It made her mad but hey, they always shot at him rather than her when they ran into other living humans, so it had it's benefits.

"Over here, there's a bit of a stream that runs down an' through the other room."

"Better than nothin." He grumbles, as she helps him walk through the bunker, and into the room that looked like it was half collapsed in on itself. Sure enough there was a decent amount of semi-clear water dropping down into the room, almost like a mini-waterfall.

With out hesitation, he moves way from her, kicking off his boxers and ducking under the ice cold water. It woke him up enough that he actually started to scrub down as best as he could with one hand and just a dingy piece of clothe she hands him. Letting him be, she goes and gathers up his clothes for him, and before long, he's done, shaking water off his leg like a dog would. He grabs on his boxers again and takes his clothes from her, amused to find she had actually gone out of her way to get him a new set of jeans...the patched ones were pretty much scrap material at this point. 

"Thanks, Priss."

"Don't mention it."

"Alright, alright, c'mon, give a brother some privacy-"

"Really? I've seen yer dick, Dee. Just get dressed- I'm sticking around so you don't fall over while trying to put your jeans on."

Grumbling, he slowly starts to get dressed, with her help here and there...boxers were easy to get on, but jeans and a shirt were a whole nother story...same for socks and boots...Goddamn it everything was gonna be harder with one hand. Dee realized his chances of survival are now slimmer than before, and that just did not sit well in his malnourished gut at all. Shit was just gonna get harder from here on out.

As he finally gets his jacket back on, he feels some semblance of normal, even when Priss takes a pin and pins the dangling sleeve up so it wouldn't be a nuisance, he feels like he's back to normal. As normal as a broken man like himself could be.

He pauses, when Priss reaches up to run her fingers through his wet hair, leaning down for her, as she fusses with it, getting rid of knots and tangles so it would be easier to chop off. However, she does her thing, pausing to put a hand on his cheek and smile at him, even pressing a quick kiss to his forehead- mostly to see if his fever was still there, but it was a gesture of affection as well.

"Aight let's get you all prettied up and then it'll be my turn." 

She holds up the scissors she had found, and motions for him to sit down. He does, and grumbles. He hated the idea of his hair going but if it helped keep his ass out of trouble and made his life easier, he could wait to grow it out and dye it again in the future. Maybe if they found a settlement....He zones out a bit as he feels her cut off all of his hair, well, almost all of it. When she's done running a sharpened knife gently across his scalp, she holds up a broken mirror piece for him to see her handy work. 

She left him a small, easily managed Mohawk in place of the wild and styled one he had sported when they first met. She was even nice to keep his weird dangly sideburns hair-things...whatever the fuck they were called. She didn't know. She wasn't hard core punk. Surprisingly, he smiles at seeing it. Okay, yes she knew him all to well, but it was still blonde, but for now he'd deal. The sentiment was appreciated far to much for her to really realize. 

"Yeh like it?"

"Yeah, yeah I do..." 

He says, putting the mirror piece aside, standing and brushing the last of the stray hairs off his body. He grabs up the knife she had been using while she goes and cleans up, and very carefully ( as he can ) takes it to his face and gets rid of the two days worth of facial hair he had built up. He'd get Priss to do the detail work for him when she was done, but he was happy to be as clean as he could possibly be despite everything.

He glances just a bit to watch Priscilla dress for a brief moment, before putting his eyes down again, giving her some semblance of privacy, at least in his mind. Both of them were aware of how much their relationship teetered between good friends to lovers. 

Shit, sometimes it almost felt like there could be something more between them, and it always made Dietrich stop in his tracks and beat that emotion back down to where it belonged. At the bottom of the ocean that was his heart. As comfortable and sexual and borderline romantic as they could be, this was not the time nor the place for anything blossoming, because relationships like that make survival messy and-

"Hey, what's on your mind?" 

Comes the voice that breaks his chain of thought. He snaps his attention up to her, eyebrow raised at the freshly chopped, and slightly uneven, hair she now sported. 

"Nothin'. Nice hair cut. Your mum do it for yah?" Dietrich cracks, as he stands, and reaches over, ruffling her hair up so it wasn't just flat against her head. That earns him a slap of his hand as she snorts and leans away.

"Stop it, yah fucknut, let's get our shit and get moving, winters gonna hit in a couple of weeks and we're under prepared as fuck."

"Yeah yeah fuckin' yeah lets get our asses in gear....Where's my bat?"

"It got broken when I snagged it to go scavenging..."

"Awh fuck. Alright we'll just have to find me something to swing on our way then, for now I'm taking your machete, cause you have the goddamn gun."

"Ah can deal wit' tha', c'mon, ah'll get the supplies together, yer gloves are in your jacket pocket."

"I guess you can say I'm /all right/ now."

"DEE I SWEAR TO FUCK IF YOU START MAKING AMPUTEE PUNS-" 

Priscilla calls back as she gets their packs around, a faint wheeze following her words. 

"We'll get fuckin' found out if they can hear me wheezin' a mile away." 

Not that he'd admit he loved hearing that stupid dying sound come out of her mouth. Not a snowballs chance in hell.

"Okay okay, but I gotta /hand it to you/ -" 

"DEE! SERIOUSLY! STOP!" 

"OKAY I'M STOPPIN' Geezus woman you take the fun out of everything, even losing an arm."

"Well, now at least you save half off on gloves."

"....That's just rude."

"You started it." 

She says, shoving his backpack at him, as he slings it over his shoulders. It wasn't as hard to get a pack on with one arm as he thought it would be. Huh. Least it kept his hand free for that machete...Which he easily had strapped to his belt now. Good. Now he felt like his chances were getting better. 

"We're burning daylight, c'mon. Ah found tha way outta tha city yesterday, if we keep to the roof tops we'll be home free outta this wretched place..."

"Lead the way, Priss."

"Yeh yeh, ah always lead...aight, this way-"

And with that, they were back on their feet, moving to find another semi-safe place to bunker down and call home for a few days.


End file.
